Jackson

Jackson

question asker

cello player

Lego builder

fact rememberer
rule follower
calculator


loving big brother x 3
thinker
bearer of beautiful blue eyes


people pleaser
line leader
negotiator


smarty pants
the love of his mama's heart
six year old

Love Them and They'll Shine

When he was 3, I took Jackson to the library to hear a string quartet. It was a fun afternoon, and I drove home feeling that "good mother" feeling that I get when I turn off the TV and do something enriching with my kids. I didn't think any more of it.

Days later, Jackson asked me what "the big one" was called. I had no idea what he was talking about. "The big one at the library?" he prodded. "Oh, the cello?" I asked. Yes, that was it. I inquired about what brought about his question. "I want to play it," he told me. I smiled. So cute. 3 is a fun age.

But it wasn't just a 3 year old's whim. Days turned into weeks turned into months of asking--begging--for a cello. And so, while his friends asked for bikes and video games, he asked for a cello for his 4th birthday.

But that was the easy part. For days after the birthday party, he asked me to help him play. I, having played the violin as a kid, had some idea as to how to put the strings on, rosin the bow, and make a sound. But that was about the extent of my knowledge of the cello. So I started researching teachers. I started by calling an old friend of mine who teaches cello. He was willing to take Jackson as a student, but his schedule meant it would be the end of the summer before we could start. He was eager to get started, so I decided to keep looking. I called a local string shop, and they gave me the names of several cello teachers in the area. I started calling. Each person told me the same thing: 4 is just too young to play the cello. I tried to explain that he was no ordinary 4 year old, but it was no use. They had it in their heads that I was a crazy whip-cracking mother who was pushing her child to be a musical prodigy for my own benefit. One teacher agreed to "give it a try," but her negative attitude about the whole thing put me on the defensive. It didn't feel right. I kept looking.

Finally I Googled "Suzuki cello teacher" and landed at SuzukiAssociation.org. I searched for a teacher in my area and found three that I hadn't previously called. I left messages for all three of them. One didn't call me back. One did call back but gave me the same song and dance I'd already heard about 4 being too young. But one called and was brilliant.

I talked to Kathleen Bowman for over half an hour. I described my situation, and she got excited. 4 is the perfect age to start, she assured me. I felt really good about her. So we set up a trial lesson.

My sweet Jackson talked about his upcoming lesson non-stop in the days leading up to our first lesson. He asked a million questions and wondered out loud about what it would be like. Then, finally, the day arrived. A surprisingly young woman opened the door and invited us in. And Jackson stopped talking.

He loved her. I know he did because he told me later--she was nice, funny, smart, pretty. He was full of compliments at home. But while we were there, he didn't speak. He didn't even look at her. Week after week we sat in her living room while she provided patient instruction, and week after week he sucked in his cheeks and stared at his toes. He did hear her though. Whether or not she knew it, he heard her. We went home and he repeated verbatim all that she had told him. And slowly, but surely, he started looking up. One day he looked right at her and answered with a "yes" instead of a half nod of the head. I could have kissed her then. She brought my little boy out of his shell.

Fast forward a couple of months. The end of his first semester of lessons was approaching, and with it came the Christmas recital. I could have predicted his reaction. I mentioned the idea of playing in a recital and tears formed in his tiny eyes. No, he didn't want to do it. Yes, he loved playing the cello. No, he didn't want to play in a recital. But this lady is brilliant. She asked him for a favor. Would he mind going with her to play his cello in a nursing home for some grandmas and grandpas? It would mean so much to them, and they wouldn't know or care if he messed up. Yes, he would. No, he wouldn't play in a recital. Yes, he would do mission work in a nursing home. It wasn't until we got home that evening that we told him he had successfully completed his first cello recital. We celebrated with a sundae. He beamed. And, the following week, he played in the Christmas recital--his second public performance--without any tears. He was proud. I never cared if my boy became a musician. I just wanted him to believe in himself.

And that's why I sing Ms. Kathleen's praises to anyone who will listen. She's an excellent cellist. She's a brilliant teacher. But most importantly, she's a compassionate Christian who loves her students. And they love her in return.

Those two handsome boys in vests on the front row? They're mine. They just had their spring recital. I asked Ei how he thought he did, and he replied, "I played like a 10 year old!" I asked Jackson if he was nervous, and he replied, "Yeah, maybe a little, I guess." That's the difference 2 years with a brilliant teacher makes. (She's the one right in the middle with the pink shirt, black jacket, and kind smile.)

Oh, by the way, if you want to learn more about Kathleen Bowman's studio, go to her website: http://www.bowmancello.com/. No, I'm not on the payroll--she's just a good friend and has been wonderful to my family. I owe her a lot more than a link on a blog, but it's a start.

New Year. Fresh Start.

I saw this bumper sticker yesterday that said, "More Wag. Less Bark." I tried to get a picture of it, but the light turned green before I could get my camera out, so you'll just have to take my word for it. Anyway, I liked it. I think I've been barking far too much lately. My kids are slow to do their chores. Bark. There is too much noise in the house. Bark, bark. And I've been wagging far too little.

So, my new year's resolution: More Wag. Less Bark.

Also, my first baby lost his first tooth on this first day of the new decade. Put the brakes on. It's moving too fast.





Happy New Year, friends. I hope that your 2010 is filled with many blessings and that you wag far more than you bark.

*I DID write this on New Year's Day. Unfortunately, blogger was not feeling cooperative. I haven't been able to get it to post until today. So, Happy New Year a few days late.

Happy Birthday, Dear Jackson

Dear Jackson,

Today you turn 5 years old. I don't know how that's possible. I can still remember so vividly the weight of you in my arms for the first time, the intoxicating sweet smell that followed you around, and the softness of your fuzzy head as you nestled into my shoulder. You loved to be carried on my chest with your tiny legs tucked under your body like a little frog. You really weren't much of a crier, but when you did cry your face turned beet red and, buddy, you wailed. How is it possible that all of that was five years ago? When did you turn from a helpless infant into this charming boy?

Jackson, there's so much I will tell you someday. I want to tell you about the time I took you for your 9-month well-baby checkup and they told me that your liver was enlarged. The doctor guessed it was probably harmless but wanted to order an ultrasound to rule out cancer. CANCER. I heard that word echo in my head for the next 4 days as I wavered between begging God to take care of you and fury that He would bless me with this precious person only to take you away from me. I have never been so scared in all my life, and I've never cried that many tears. I can remember feeling your brother kicking around inside me (I was pregnant with Ei at the time) and feeling so torn because I wanted to give you a piece of my own liver but knew that I couldn't with Baby Ei inside me, and it was too early to deliver him. I don't think I slept at all for 3 nights. When they told me the ultrasound looked fine and that you were okay, I couldn't stop kissing you and holding you close to me. You squirmed away and wanted me to put you down, but I needed to hold on to you.

Jackson, someday I want you to know how I worry about you. I watch you suck in your cheeks when you're nervous, and I want to pull you close to me and make the world go away. I want to protect you from all that makes you scared and sad and embarrassed, but I also want to teach you how to believe in yourself and talk yourself through the anxiety. I want to push you hard to be the best you can be, but I also want you to know that the best you can be doesn't have to be perfect. I want you to know how proud I am of you, but I don't want you to think I'm proud of you only because of what you accomplish. You're a complex person, but I get you because you're my mini-me. I understand, but I don't have a clue what to do about it. And I worry all the time that I'm not getting it right.

Jackson, I don't even have the words to describe how much I love you. When I asked God for a baby, I hadn't thought much about what it would be like to have a child. I knew I wanted little doll clothes and strollers and tiny shoes (oh, the shoes!), but I didn't think ahead to what it would be like when my baby turned five. I had no idea that I would still sneak into your room at night to watch you sleep. I didn't know that I would still find the smell of your hair intoxicating. I couldn't have guessed that I would still struggle with my own need to hold you close and your need to wiggle free. You changed my life, little man. You love to remind me that I wasn't even a mom until you came along, and you have no idea how true that is. It's not just a title. Before you were even born, I fell in love with you, and my life started changing. I didn't know I could love like this. And, Jackson, it wasn't just me! You changed our whole family. I have never loved your Daddy as much as I did the day he tried to change your diaper for the first time. It took him a good 15 minutes just to get the old one off (meanwhile a very patient nurse was standing by waiting to take your vitals, and, bless her heart, she didn't laugh even once). Since you came along, I've fallen in love with Daddy's playful, patient, tender side. And our extended family? Never have we been so close. You wouldn't believe the welcome you received. My hospital room was packed to the brim with balloons, gifts, food, and so many people who just couldn't wait to squeeze you. For days we had a steady stream of visitors at our door. No one could get enough of you. Even after the newness of you wore off, we found new reasons to get together. Everyone just wanted to be near you. That hasn't changed. Five years later, we still have a steady stream of visitors at our door. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends--everyone wants to be a part of your life and watch you grow into this fantastic young man. You are a well-loved person, Jackson Reed...but no one loves you like your Mama loves you.

Happy birthday, precious Jackson. I hope all your birthday wishes come true. And I hope someday you have a child of your own so you can love someone this richly.

Yours forever,

Mama

A Different Perspective

Jackson: When will we get to see God?

Mama: Well, the Bible says that someday Jesus will return to take all the people who believe in Him to Heaven, but we don't know when that will happen. If it doesn't happen before we die we'll get to see Him in Heaven then.

Jackson: Oh, so you have to die to see God?

Mama: That's typically the way it works.

Jackson: Well, those people we saw in the nursing home must be really excited because they're going to die any day now.

What do you say to that?

When Good isn't Good Enough

Today I was having a conversation about Jackson with a friend of mine who knows him well. She asked if I had decided what do to about his education, and I told her this: next year we are doing kindergarten off the record (meaning I'm not registering him as a kindergartner), and at the end of the year I am going to have him tested and see where to do from there. In my head this made perfect sense. I work with him all year on kindergarten skills, then test him and find out that--low and behold--he'll be ahead in all areas. This will justify homeschooling him rather than sending him to school to relearn all these skills he's already mastered. But as soon as I said the words aloud I realized that this is just my way of justifying to everyone else what I've already decided to do. See, I just feel really good about teaching him at home, at least for now, and I need everyone else to feel good about it too. And somehow I think that crazy high test scores will do that. Maybe it will, but I'm afraid of what I'm setting up.

I don't know where I got my inner need to be the best, outperform everyone else, and excel at everything I do. I don't recall my parents participating in that obsession. In fact, I once told my mom that I was afraid I might make a C in a class in high school, and she offered to pay me if I did. I'm not kidding. She thought that taking the rest of the semester off and letting myself chill out a bit was more important than my grade point average. But I didn't listen. And I didn't make a C.

The point is, something inside me demands that I not only meet expectations (in a timely and organized fashion) but blow the top off of them. I don't want to be a good employee. I want to be employee of the month. Three times. I don't want to make an A. I want a 100%. (Is extra credit an option? I'll make a 105.) And it might sound lovely to come out on top, but I assure you that it's not. It's not because while I should be celebrating one victory, I'm instead trying to figure out how I can raise the bar. And at some point, I'm bound to miss it. And it hurts every time.

Last Sunday my son received an award at his cello recital. He practiced more in the month of April than any other student in the studio (44 times in a 30-day month). He was so very proud. He talked about it all day and wanted to show off his certificate to anyone who would listen. Then something very troubling happened. He said that next time he would try to practice 45 times. See, it's not good enough for him that he's the best. He wants to beat his own score. A little piece of me panicked. It's going to hurt when he misses the bar. Did I do this to him? Or was he born with it like I was?

So, I wonder what I'm doing with all this testing business. It's kindergarten for goodness sake. I know Jackson. If I tested him today he would already excel kindergarten standards. Do I need a test to tell me that? Am I just putting pressure on him to excel? And if he is a grade level ahead this year, will I just push for him to be 2 grade levels ahead next year? How can I teach him to let himself relax if I can't? And, even if his test scores aren't ahead of grade level, doesn't he still deserve the same loving home-based education that I have planned for him? This isn't a reward for outstanding performance. Somehow those things have gotten entwined in my head, and I'm having a hard time separating them. True, I think that my children will receive a better education at home AND will excel if they receive a one-on-one education. Who wouldn't? But that's not what is driving me to homeschooling, and I need to be honest about that. I think that my Jackson needs some more time in the nest before he is ready to fly outside on his own. That's the bottom line. I don't know when he'll be ready. First grade? Fifth? Not until college? I know that I'm his mom and I pray for him every day, and I feel sure that this is right, at least for now. Now, the hard part is deciding where to draw the line between gushing with pride over his accomplishments and pressuring him to do more.

Parenting is hard.

New Year, Fresh Start

I saw this bumper sticker yesterday that said, "More Wag. Less Bark." I tried to get a picture of it, but the light turned green before I could get my camera out, so you'll just have to take my word for it. Anyway, I liked it. I think I've been barking too much lately. I bark when my boys don't do their chores quickly enough. I bark when I there's too much noise in the house. And I wag way too little.

Today is the first day of a new decade. We all have a fresh start. So, my New Year's resolution: More Wag. Less Bark.


Also, my first baby lost his first tooth on this first day of the new decade. Put on the brakes. It's moving too fast.



Happy New Year, friends. May yours be filled with many blessings. And may you wag far more than you bark.

My Cup Runneth Over

Jackson is my hero. I mean it. Today my 4 year old faced his biggest fear head-on. He performed in his first cello recital.

I took violin lessons from 2nd grade through college. I was never forced to go to lessons or practice or play in recitals. I chose to do all of that. I decided I wanted to play violin like Isaac Stern (a hero all 2nd graders idolize, I'm sure), and my mom obliged. My dream was to play "Flight of the Bumblebee," which was my favorite song at the time. (What? It wasn't yours? I told you I wasn't normal.) I had a number of teachers over the years (some for many years and some for only a short time), and although each of them taught very differently they all had one thing in common: recitals--not negotiable. Each time a recital approached I got that same sick feeling in my stomach. Oh, and juries in college? It makes me want to puke just thinking about them. It is basically what it sounds like: a room full of people judging your every move as your hands shake so badly you can barely hold the bow let alone play a song. So, no, I was not a performer. I never did learn to love playing in front of people. (And I never did learn to play "Flight of the Bumblebee." Maybe someday...)

So, the reason I tell you all this... I woke up this morning with that same "gonna throw up any second" feeling in my stomach that I used to get before one of my own recitals. All day I kept worrying that Jackson was experiencing the same thing, but he sure hid it well if he was. This afternoon I suggested that we practice his song once before we pack up his cello and he said, "Okay, but I'm already pretty good." Well, there's nothing wrong with his self-confidence, anyway. But then I made the mistake of calling it a recital. Okay, a little background info for you: Jackson told me he would not perform in a recital. So, when Miss Kathleen (his cello teacher) asked if he would perform with her at a retirement home, we told him that it wasn't a recital but rather an opportunity to minister to some grandmas who didn't get to see kids very much. How can you say no to that? He agreed and was happy to do so. So, when I slipped and called it a recital, he looked at me with this look of betrayal. "So, it was a recital after all?" his eyes seemed to say. I quickly corrected my language, but I think he knew something was up. When we got to the retirement home, he looked around and anxiously asked me what would happen if he made a mistake. I am so thankful that we just attended a cello recital the other night in which two of the students messed up enough that Jackson noticed. We had a lovely conversation later about how sometimes people make mistakes and no one was angry or upset with them and everyone still enjoyed their music. So, I reminded him of this conversation and he nodded knowingly. I swear this kid has a soul so much older than 4. He sucked in his cheeks and rocked on his heels as Miss Kathleen tuned his tiny cello and set up their chairs. When she told him it was time to play, he nervously walked to his little chair, sat down, and played his song like a champ. I wanted to stand up and scream, "That's my kid. See that brave little boy? He's mine!" but I restrained myself. After the recital Daddy and I took him out to eat at the restaurant of his choice and gushed all evening about what a great job he did.

I asked him what it was like playing in his first recital (and I used that word because it's over now). He said, "Well, I was pretty nervous at first. But when it was over I felt kinda proud."

I told him that he has another recital coming up in a few weeks and that he's going to play "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." He started to protest when Ei chimed in with, "What will I play?" I told him that he probably wouldn't play in the concert because he's only had 2 lessons, and he looked so sad. Jackson beamed at him. "Ei, when you're four you can play in concerts like me."

We have had a bad month: sick kids, hospitals, dying relatives, funerals, break ins. It's been rough. Today my little man played his cello for a room full of elderly people while his fan club cheered him on, and somehow the world seemed right again. I am so proud of him I could burst. He's my hero, I tell you.

And I leave you with a picture he drew for his cello teacher. It's of him, happily playing his cello.

The Great Kindergarten Debate

My oldest son is 4. In August he will be eligible for kindergarten. Eligible, mind you, does not mean ready. So, let me invite you into my worry for a moment. If you have enough problems of your own, please hit the red X at the top right hand of your screen.

For quite some time, Mike and I have been discussing whether or not to start Jackson in school next year. He will be 5, but barely. He would be one of the youngest in his class and would graduate from high school when he was 17 years old. If we hold him a year, he will be the oldest in his class (giving him another year of life experience and a lot more confidence) and will graduate at 18. Plus, I'm told, it gives him an advantage should he choose to play sports in high school (being 1 year older and bigger than the other kids). This is not a factor in my decision, but I'm just laying it all out on the table here. So, with all those things in mind, it seemed a fairly easy decision to hold him an extra year and start kindergarten in the fall of 2010, just after his 6th birthday.

Now, my Jackson is very smart. He can write the alphabet (uppercase and lowercase) and understands phonics (as well as any English-speaking child can) and has about 20 sight words. He can count to 40 (with a little bit of prompting after 20) and can add sums up to 10. He can make a graph and then analyze it. He can cut with scissors well. He follows directions and takes turns with other children. He knows the days of the week. He dresses himself, combs his own hair, and brushes his own teeth. He takes cello lessons and plays piano and practices both. So, it would seem, he's kindergarten-ready today as far as skills go. Of course, this leads me to wonder what life will be like for him in 2 years when he begins kindergarten and goes back to square-one, learning letters and numbers. I'm currently taking a class which is a very watered-down version of my own major in college. And I'm bored stiff. The work keeps me busy, sure, but that's all it is: busy-work. I hate it. Of course, I don't hold the teacher responsible. He's teaching the material that needs to be covered. And it is necessary material. I've just already learned this stuff and know it well. The point is, I don't want him to experience this same problem when he goes to school. He's going to be bored and he'll be wasting time that he could be learning new skills and moving forward rather than standing still.

So, I began to consider two alternatives: private school and homeschooling. Now, this is my blog, so if you have any beef with either of those, take it elsewhere. Create your own blog called "Down with Homeschooling" or something, because I don't want to hear it. If you're still with me, read on. Okay, the obvious problem with this is cost. At minimum we're talking fifteen hundred bucks or so each month for all 3 kids (and we're not separating them--I'm not evening delving into that), and most of them are much more. So, that eliminates the possibility of my being Room Mother or even a stay-at-home mom to the preschoolers still at home. Then I have to consider the fact that I'm raising a kid to be a snob. Yeah, that's a little bit of a stereotype. Not all kids from private schools are snobs. But they don't get the chance to mingle with children from all walks of life and learn to get along, a skill which I think is really important. So, the world becomes this fairy-tale-like setting where everyone is middle or upper-class and all kids either get with the program or get kicked out. I'm just not sure I'm really explaining my concerns well, but surely you get the general idea.

Okay, the second possibility I started thinking about was homeschooling. Currently, I'm "homeschooling" preschool with both of the older boys. I am a little bit more structured with Jackson than Ei (because he's just 3), but I make both of them sit down and work with me a little bit every day. We do some seatwork (during which time they are not allowed to get up without asking and are not permitted to have toys at the table) and then do a project together (like graphing or crafts). We go to the library every week and check out books that we want to read and explore new concepts from our books. It's going really well, and we all love it. All of the skills I mentioned earlier Jackson has because I taught him (with the exception of cello, I guess). So, it seems that something is working. I joined a homeschool coop for some support with all this, and we plan to start going to the group so the boys can take classes in January. So, this seemed like a good option (not necessarily the only option) to consider. But, of course, it's not that easy.

My Jackson is also painfully shy. I don't even think shy is really the right word here. He's really--[gulp]--antisocial. Okay, now some of you are reading this and saying, "No, he's not! He plays with my kid just fine." Well, that might be true. But, I assure you, if I left his sight, he would become a nervous wreck. He cries every single week in his Wednesday night class (and that's with his brother there, in the church where we've been going since before he was born), and Mike has to go sit in the room with him. I can't even describe how he behaves in cello lessons (although I made an effort to HERE). So, I have to consider that, perhaps, being around other kids to "socialize" him would be beneficial. But I'm just not sold. I mean, we're around other kids almost every day. He goes to MOPS, Mommy & Me, library, Sunday School, Enrichment, and his Wednesday night class. He does fine with playdates and with kids his age when I'm present. But even with all this exposure, he still acts...well...weird. I just don't think it's lack of socialization. I really think it's anxiety. And I think this because I was the same way. I distinctly remember in 2nd grade we got a flyer for Brownies. There was this tiny part of me that wanted to join (all the other girls were going to!), so I brought it home to my mom. She said I could join. I panicked. Suddenly I began to picture myself in this group with a bunch of kids I didn't know and my family far away, and I didn't want to do it anymore. I couldn't tell my mom I changed my mind (Why? I have no idea. I was an anxious kid, I tell you.) so I dropped the registration form behind the bookcase where it would surely never be found. And this was not the only example of my overwhelming anxiety. My mom had to sit in my 1st grade class forever while I adjusted to the new school (we had just moved to Tennessee from Oklahoma). And sometime ask me about the paper backpack story. Geez. I was a nut. I was so anxious about social interaction and being away from my comfort zone that I stayed in tears. I was miserable. And I'm not about to let Jackson have the same kind of childhood. So, I wonder if maybe homeschooling would be a very kind thing to do for him. He could get a good education without all the anxiety that goes along with leaving home. Nope, there wouldn't be a basketball team. Nope, there wouldn't be a band. But there are coops and community orchestras and plenty of ways to get those kinds of experiences.

Oh, wouldn't it be great if it was that easy? I could just say, "I think this is what's best for my kid," and be done with it. I joined the homeschool coop and my husband's radar went up. He's completely opposed to the idea. So, it's causing some friction at home. And I know he wouldn't be the only one. It would be a tough sell. And that's if I tried to sell it at all. I'm just not sure if that's where I think we should be headed.

So, for now I pray. I feel pretty sure that we're not doing kindergarten (wherever that might take place) next year anyway, so we have some time. I wish the stars would spell out a message from God, but even if they did I would probably still find a way to question if I was doing the right thing. This is huge, right? Or is it? Is it just cut and paste and letter people and who cares where he goes anyway? And how can you tell if you got it right until it's all said and done? I guess anxiety doesn't go away with age. If you are so inclined, say a little prayer for us. And, by all means, join me in The Great Kindergarten Debate. Goodness knows I can't do this alone. I leave you with the picture Jackson drew in response to the book Barn Dance. He's so wonderful.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

A prayer offered by my oldest son tonight:

Dear God,
I hope that you are having a good day.
I love you.
I wish that I could play with you every day.
I was thinking of you at supper.
In your name we pray,
Amen.

Amen to that.

How Do I Love Thee

Yesterday my first baby turned 4. In celebration of his life, here are the things I love most about him (in no particular order).

He has the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen.

He has a dimple on his right cheek that will melt your heart.

He uses big words like improvise and destination.

He calls bananas "gananas."

He loves his brothers and tries very hard to make them happy.

He has a passion for music already.

He prays several times every day.

He wants to know more about God and asks me to read to him from the Children's Bible.

He likes to write cards to his favorite people.

He remembers everything he hears.

He has friends from different races and has never once asked why they look different.

He can give you directions to our house, using left/right and correct road names.

He says "I love you" spontaneously, and often.

He follows directions.

He wants to know why things are the way they are and how things work.

He gets nervous and sucks in his cheeks when he's around unfamiliar people.

He looks forward to Sunday School all week.

He wants to please me so badly.

He forgives me when I'm impatient.

He still loves to sit in my lap.

I am so proud of him I could just burst.

Sometimes I call him Baby, and he protests that he is not a baby. I remind him that he's my baby and will be forever, even when he's an old man with babies of his own.


I have so many more things to say. I love him for so many more reasons. Happy Birthday, Jackson. I have loved every minute (okay, most minutes) of the last 4 years. I love watching you grow. I love seeing the person you're becoming. I can't wait to see what kind of man you'll become. I am so proud of you. I love you so much. -Mama


Jackson, 1 day old